An Old Flame
by shippidy-doo-da
Summary: An overview of Lysandre's and Sycamore's increasingly one-sided and unhealthy relationship, from their first meeting as young environmental activists through to the events of Pokemon X/Y.
1. Chapter 1

She was thankful that, having reached the weekend, there were no seminars to run to. After last night, she didn't want to move again in her life. If she'd failed to let her flatmates know exactly what had been happening, she'd eat her Magnemite.

Stretching out her legs, she felt the absence of the man who had fallen asleep beside her. Despite the knowledge that he would be flying to Kalos by dawn, she hoped in vain that she may still wake to find his arms still wrapped around her; a sleepy morning erection pressed against her body.

She had first met Gus while slaving in the lab last summer. With his long black hair and easy charm, he stood out a mile out from the more reclusive postgraduates, who only seemed interested in their books and lab equipment. The summer passed like a dream, although it was several months before they shared their first kiss (in a flowerbed during the last half-hour of a student house party).

What had existed between them since was vaguely defined, as he had always avoided discussing about the state of their relationship. Despite his guarded nature, being with him was always a delight; he had always been a ray of sunshine on her back.

It was difficult to believe that he was gone from her life as quickly as that; leaving her with nothing but bite marks on her breasts and the memory of that smile no girl could resist.

* * *

Augustine Sycamore tossed his broken and useless umbrella into a nearby bin. Before him stood the only bar on the North Boulevard to have not yet politely kicked out the ragtaggled pressure group which called itself _Save Our Future_.

He cupped his hands around his cheeks and stared inside. Inside, the bar seemed to be almost empty. A handful of students clad in evening wear were playing billiards, their glasses balanced on the sides of the table, and a huddle of about a dozen Lumiosians sat at the back of the room, listening to an elderly man, who wrung his hands as he spoke. Sycamore could just about make out his words through the glass.

"We've had more news from our branch in Santalune City. Planning permission for the incinerator on the edge of the forest has been granted. Construction work could be beginning as early as next week…"

"Boo!" shouted a woman wearing a lumpy brown poncho.

"Rubbish!" agreed her husband.

"… but I say we'll be damned if we let the forest be ravaged without a fight! I say, let's join our comrades in Santalune and show the council what _Save Our Future_ is all about! Oho! Imagine the looks on their faces when they arrive with their diggers and cranes and find us sitting strong, high in the branches, our-"

The old man broke off as Sycamore entered the bar, bringing a blast of rain in with him. As he went to join the activists at the back of the room, he was aware of a girl in chiffon gown gazing at the back of his head.

"… we'll be sitting high in the branches, our resolution unaffected by the freezing rain, by the sneers of the masses…"

A man with a mane of scarlet hair pulled up a chair for Sycamore. As Sycamore took it, he leaned forwards and whispered:

"Are you in the right place? I've never seen you here before."

"Well, I've just returned to Kalos after three years away. This _is_ the _Save Our Future_ meeting, isn't it? Else I'll look so foolish!" He smiled widely, clasping his hands together.

"It is. Where were you living before?"

"Sandgem Town."

"Oh," the other young man said. His eyes rolled briefly back to the speaker. "What were you doing _there_?"

"My PhD." Sycamore turned his head back to the elderly man. Interest was wavering, and in response, the man pushed his voice up by an octave and a few decibels.

"What's your name?"

"Augustine. Augustine Sycamore."

"My name is Lysandre." He offered his new acquaintance a gloved hand, which he shook warmly. The speaker had finished addressing his comrades now, and was settling back down into his seat to a weak round of applause.

"Will you be going to Santalune forest, then?" Sycamore asked, nodding his head at the rest of the group. Lysandre snorted into his amber-coloured drink. "No? Oh dear. Why not?"

"This lot will protect the trees for an extra week and succeed in making enemies of the contractors in Santalune. We might be on the local radio station and some people will join the Santalune branch. But I'm not going to make a difference by sitting in a Fletchling nest pissing in a bottle." Lysandre looked thoughtful for a moment. "Tell me what you study, Dr Sycamore."

"Pokémon Evolution. I wrote my thesis on the theory of stimulated temporary evolution, specifically in Blaziken. Few in the scientific community have time for what has been nicknamed _megaevolutionary theory_, so I was lucky to obtain enough funding to complete the research under Professor Rowan in Sinnoh. No reliable studies have recorded the transformation, but I'm _very_ confident that we'll be able to sustain temporary evolution for short observable periods under lab conditions within 10 years!"

"_Megaevolution_." Lysandre said, shifting his chair closer. "I heard that it could raise already fully evolved Pokémon to a strength that is almost unimaginable."

"Yes. Although predictions suggest that the change cannot be sustained for longer than the duration of a typical Pokémon battle. Mastering megaevolution could render a trainer practically unbeatable. This is all this theoretical. I wouldn't expect to see megaevolved Pokémon competing in the Pokémon League. Not any time soon."

"Would they be allowed to compete?"

"I don't know!" Sycamore threw up his hands and laughed gently. "This is all speculation in the scientific community."

"I would like you to tell me more," Lysandre said. "Do you want to get a drink?"

Gradually, the rest of the activists trailed away to the warmth of their flats, leaving behind a cluster of empty glasses. The bar reached closing time in the early hours of the morning, with just Lysandre and his new companion left, precisely where they had been sitting when they first exchanged names.

"There is so much left to learn about Pokémon and the power they contain," Lysandre was saying. "Even the most fragile Pokémon can wield enormous strength when provoked."

"It's humbling."

"It's inspiring," Lysandre said. "Imagine being able to harness the power of Pokémon. We could source electricity from them and reduce our dependence on other fuels. We could store energy and survive through difficult conditions." He stood and shuffled towards the door with Sycamore as the manager shooed them out, wielding his mop. "Our future would be free from so many of the difficulties we'll inevitably have to face."

The rain had stopped, and the air was fresh and cool on their faces. Lysandre was still flaring with contagious idealism.

"You wouldn't make a shabby addition to the scientific community," Sycamore commented.

"It's too late for me. Leaving education early is one of my greatest regrets."

"I understand. I used to want to be a Pokémon master and compete in the League. But I didn't catch my first Pokémon until I was 16. It was too late to begin the road to becoming a Champion." They fell into silence as they walked down the pavement, side by side. A lit cigarette appeared between Sycamore's thin fingers and seconds later, he exhaled a wisp of smoke into the air. Lysandre frowned, his brows knitting together.

"Smoking will ruin you."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I have to go. My flat's this way," Sycamore gestured down a narrow avenue with his empty hand, and the other man nodded.

"Then we shall part ways for tonight. My mid-weekly meeting has been postponed, so I will visit the Pokémon Lab this week and pick up that journal."

"Of course. I'll make there's a copy in the technician's store, just in case I'm out. Goodbye."

"Goodnight, Dr Sycamore."


	2. Chapter 2

"Hello, may I help you?"

"I want to see Dr Sycamore."

The secretary stared at the tall man with violently red hair and a scowl. His arms were folded across his broad chest, and his clothing was too well co-ordinated for him to pass as a research scientist. All in all, he was conspicuous.

"I don't know if he's in, I'm sorry. What do you want to see him for?"

"I'm returning his journal. He has more literature waiting for me."

"Are you a mature undergraduate? I'll need to see some ID. You've missed his office hours for today."

"I'm not his _student_. I'm a friend."

"Are you talking about Augustine Sycamore? He's out," said a green-haired woman in a pencil skirt. "I saw him leaving an hour ago. Apparently he's having coffee with Rachel from tech support." Lysandre felt a stab of intense frustration.

"Is Rachel the one with the gap in her front teeth?" the first woman asked, wrinkling her nose. "I never liked her."

"No, that's Sandra."

"Oh, see, I thought he was doing Sandra."

"Okay, he _never_ had anything to do with Sandra. She just made that one up to piss off Rachel. He was so angry when he found out what she had been saying about his-"

Lysandre abandoned Sycamore's journal on the desk by a small potted Bellsprout, and left the secretaries to their gossip. The doors of the Pokémon Lab swung open for him.

"_Thank you kindly for visiting_!" they gurgled in a robotic voice.

Lysandre kicked a pebble into the road and headed towards Magenta Plaza. He had paid for a taxi to arrive at the Pokémon Lab in time to speak to Sycamore. Of course that was what was so irritating.

No. In truth, he had been hoping that Augustine Sycamore would be the first he would share his new ideas with. Sycamore was well-qualified, but what mattered more was that he was interested and _aware_. He understood what mattered. Wasting time with women was surely below him. His support was worth more than the murmuring approval of the tired, bar-swelling environmentalists, half of whom were still camping in the canopy of Santalune forest.

In a single week, Sycamore had awoken a lease of determination within him. Lumiose City was full of disillusioned young people who only needed a leader to unite them and make a force to be reckoned with. There was a lot to learn and a long way to go, but ideas about his first move were beginning to form.

A short flash of light shook Lysandre from his train of thought. Litleo had burst mewling out of its Pokéball. It was eyeing a Furfrou, tethered to a nearby tree.

"Hello." Lysandre said, scratching his Pokémon's ears. Litleo's body was hot to the touch; a comfort on a dreary afternoon. "Sycamore was out, did you hear? He's seeing a lady today."

Litleo flicked its tail sympathetically, and its trainer shook his head. If his plans were going to come to fruition, he needed fresh, gritty manpower. Magenta Plaza opened up before him.

"Let's go and recruit some young blood, shall we?"


	3. Chapter 3

"We're here. We're finally here."

Sycamore gazed at the expanse of rocky plains. It was too far beneath them. There were five of them – himself, Lysandre, a quiet teen called Emile from _Save Our Future_, and two undergraduates; Lucy and Helen, who were recent recruits to Lysandre's cause.

A sizeable crowd had already gathered outside the barbed-wire fence of the power plant, and distant figures put their hands to their foreheads to stare at the activists and their climbing equipment, which hung over the domed cooling tower.

"Is that all? Really? I was hoping we'd draw a bigger crowd than that." said Lucy breathlessly, unrolling the banner from her rucksack. She was pink in the face and looked ecstatic to have made the climb all in one piece.

"More people are arriving all the time," Sycamore replied, pointing towards the trail of vans trundling in their direction.

"Will we be on the TV?" Lucy asked.

"Yes. But remember, I'm spokesman for the group," Lysandre said. "You just need to stay quiet and support me."

"Of course we will." Helen took the other end of the enormous banner and the girls threw it open. It floated down the side of the cooling tower, enormous painted letters: 'WE WILL BE THE DEATH OF US'. Emile and the girls weren't sure what it meant, but agreed it was a powerful statement that would provoke discussion, which was what they wanted. Lysandre could be trusted.

They fastened the banner to the cooling tower. As they worked, a faint dot in the sky formed into a helicopter.

"Shit!" Lucy said. "Who is it? Not the police?"

"It can't be."

The group stood awkwardly on the sloped surface as they waited for the helicopter to fly close enough for them to make out the goggle-covered faces of the crew on board. One man was clutching a furry object on a stick; a boom microphone. Lysandre gestured for his companions to step back, and Sycamore squeezed his shoulder firmly before joining the others.

"I'm right behind you." Lysandre's glanced back just in time to see Sycamore's swift, warm smile. The blades of the helicopter roared, rippling their banner. A woman in a pink skirt suit leaned out of the door, clutching a microphone. She was bellowing over the noise.

"This is TV Prunella reporting _live_ from above Kalos Power Plant, where five young people from the environmental pressure group _Save Our Future_ have succeeded in climbing to the top of the highest cooling tower and are now displaying a very provocative home-painted banner. So far, reactions have been mixed, with a representative from the Power Plant stating that their first priority is the safety of the plant and the people, activists included. Let's see what they have to say for themselves. Hello! Can you hear me?!"

"Hello. My name is Lysandre and I'm the leader of this protest."

"Lysandre, could you tell me what you're hoping to achieve as a result of this daring direct action?"

"Our planet can _not_ be sustained when we consume natural resources with no concern for the future. We want to raise the profile of sustainable energy. That's why we're here. This is a very real issue. We want it to become a real debate."

"Wow! Would you believe that? Is this the best way to start a debate?"

"Yes. Direct action can't be ignored."

"How long are you planning to remain on top of this cooling tower?"

"As long as is necessary for our message to be heard."

"I see. I hope you have plenty of empty bottles handy, right?! And why are you doing this now? Why not five years ago? Why not in five years' time?"

"I believe that the time for diplomacy is running out. We're going to need nothing short of a revolution to save our planet from becoming barren."

"That's quite a thing to say! Who would you like to see leading such a revolution?"

"I-"

"Lysandre, look at that! Is that Officer Jenny?" Helen slid forward and pointed into the sky. A second, larger helicopter was descending into view. Lysandre immediately recognised the familiar colours of the Lumiose City metropolitan police, and he swelled with defiance. Behind him, his companions had become frantic as mice. Emile began to cry.

"Annnnd, it looks as though the _police_ are just arriving on the scene! Officer Jenny is leaning out of her helicopter with a megaphone. Is she going to address-"

"Get out of the way please!" Officer Jenny's amplified voice vibrated through the air. She descended from her helicopter on a rope ladder, followed by two other constables. Three Growlithe leapt from their Pokéballs with bared teeth, and bounded to surround Lysandre and his companions.

Officer Jenny turned to face the group and lowered her megaphone. Her tone was firm.

"You've caused a lot of trouble already today. Plant operations have been suspended for the sake of your health and safety. If you co-operate with us, you will be issued civil warnings and return home before dusk. Will you come with us?"

"Y-yes," Emile stammered, lifting his hands. He stumbled forwards, clutching at his rucksack. Helen and Lucy followed him, their eyes flickering between their stubborn companions and the officers who confronted them.

"Lysandre?"

"I'm not moving," he replied. "I've got a message to broadcast." In the corner of his eye, Sycamore moved closer, one pale hand slipping into his coat lining where Lysandre knew he kept his single occupied Pokéball. Officer Jenny raised her megaphone back to her mouth.

"You're just kids; you've got a lot waiting for you. We don't want to have ruin your futures with criminal records. Come with us, or we'll have to put you under arrest."

"Not if we can help it," Lysandre said. "Litleo! Go!" The stocky cub exploded from its Pokéball, and with a shout from Sycamore, his Gabite, all flashing claws, joined it. In an instant, the line of Growlithe was tensed and ready. Lysandre spun on his heel. "Use ember, Litleo!"

The cub rocked back and a spurt of flame licked across the surface of the cooling tower. The Growlithe, unaffected, rounded on the trainers and their Pokémon, pushing Lysandre and Sycamore back to back.

"Gabite, dragon rage!" One of the Growlithe was caught in the bellow of the blast, and howled, scrambling away, but the remaining two pounced on their opponents, sinking teeth into their skins.

"No!" Lysandre leapt out to protect his Pokémon, but a powerful weight forced him down onto his chest. Steel clicked behind his back, and Officer Jenny dragged him to his feet. Lysandre looked at the chaos around him. Litleo and Gabite were trapped by the Growlithe. Sycamore was on his knees, dazed. This was clearly his first real fight. The constables cuffed his wrists behind his back and helped him into a standing position, supporting his half-dead weight.

"We're taking you in for the night," Officer Jenny said, as the blades of the helicopter began to whirl once again. "You'll be seen to by the magistrate in the morning. Growlithe, get rid of that banner; it's upsetting the residents"

* * *

The officers at the police station took their names, addresses and confiscated their Pokéballs, which were locked in a safe overnight.

They were dealt with strictly but not unpleasantly by the officers. It took a while for Sycamore to comprehend what was happening. He had always been so _golden_. He placed his long, pale hands in his lap and stared at them as the night shift ticked away around them.

"I can't believe this."

"You've always supported me," Lysandre said quietly. "I thought you were ready to help, whatever happened." There was a long pause.

"Never thought I'd end up in trouble with the police though."

"It's just for the night. We'll be fined and allowed to leave tomorrow morning."

"You don't understand. I'm not going to be able to progress in my field with a tarnished personal reputation. I can't afford it."

The dark-headed young man wasn't just flimsy, he was also so _selfish_. Lysandre bristled. He didn't know who or what to direct his anger at anymore. Nothing was right. Two men appeared from the office to lead them away for the night.

His head sunk into his palms as the cell door clicked shut behind them. Sycamore wrapped a tired arm around his shoulder, ready to comfort a weeping friend, but instead Lysandre's hands balled into fists, and his face coloured as red as his hair.

"I've _fucking_ failed already and I haven't even started." he hissed. "Six weeks of preparation, all that bullshit with _Save Our Future_, and what happens? Barely up on the cooling tower before we're hoisted up and taken back down. Like baggage."

"We didn't fail. We were seen. Our message was seen!" Sycamore said, raising a hand to caress the other man's scalp. An angry tear squeezed from Lysandre's eyes. He shoved his cellmate away irritably.

"But nothing will change! I tried so hard! Why is it so easy to push away and ignore us?"

"Peaceful protest can only go so far."

"You're right. You're right."


	4. Chapter 4

It had been a month since the incident on the cooling tower, and Lysandre had regressed into a brooding state as he struggled to rekindle his determination.

After returning from work, he would sit at his desk beneath the glare of a lamp and read from his precious stack of journals, ruler pressed to the page to guide his eyes from line to line. More than anything else, he liked to read about the newest technology being developed from regions across the world.

He found that the plain, factual prose of a scientific paper was easy to digest. His mind buzzed with possibilities. Knowledge was precious. Imagination was priceless.

When _Save Our Future_ was called to meet on the North Boulevard, Lysandre would listen to his comrades with a thoughtful concentration that had been noticeably absent before. And when the agenda drew to completion, he would join Sycamore and talk with him, full of suggestions and arguments, questions and daring ideas. Sometimes others would gravitate towards him to overhear their conversation.

As had become habitual, the bar began emptying by midnight, and Lysandre and Sycamore found themselves to be the last customers left. A new wad of journals were jammed into a bag beneath the table.

Sycamore pulled a cigarette from his pocket, and stuck it in his mouth as he groped for his lighter. The cigarette tumbled to the floor.

"Ah, shit."

"You can't smoke it now; the floor is filthy." Lysandre said. Sycamore grunted something non-committal and rested his head on Lysandre's knee as he bent to claw around their feet. He found his cigarette and stuck it back between his lips.

"How many whiskies have you had?" Lysandre peered at the collection of glasses on the table before them. Sycamore finally lit up, and got to his feet, exhaling a lungful of smoke. His eyelids fluttered shut as the comfort of the nicotine began to settle through his body.

"I'm fine, Lysandre."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"Alright. Just let me finish my drink and let's leave. It's closing time."

The two men strolled out into the night, a thin trail of ash scattering in their footsteps. A fluorescent-jacketed street cleaner on his vehicle whirred past, whisking dirt into the pavement.

Lumiose City was as beautiful as a mismatched of concrete towers could possibly be, but litter was scattered through the streets. Even the wealthiest streets were not safe from vandals wielding stones and spray cans. It was in decay. Sycamore crunched the remains of his cigarette beneath his heel as he walked and Lysandre winced.

"Don't do that."

"Sorry."

"Sycamore." Lysandre stopped walking. They had reached their parting fork, but he wasn't ready to say goodnight. "Would you happen to have the latest issue of Hoenn Tech?"

"Yes."

"In your office or-"

"In my flat."

"I want to read it. Please."

"Well, alright. I'd love to hear what you have to say about the applications of the latest processing microchip. It's fascinating!" He smiled.

Cocking his head, he beckoned his companion to follow him; halfway down the alleyway, through a shabby black door and up three flights of steps back to his one-man flat.

* * *

Lysandre had never given much thought to what Sycamore's home would look like. He had always assumed that he slept in the Pokémon laboratory, perhaps in a sleeping bag beneath a work station while a programmed experiment ran through the night.

Sycamore clicked the door open. The shelves were stacked with books, folders and loose papers, which spread out onto the floor. There was an arrangement of wild flowers in a vase on the heavy wooden desk. The heavy, artificial scent of sandalwood and beeswax masked any clinging hints of tobacco.

"Sit down. I'll find you that magazine and a glass of something dry." Lysandre watched carefully as the other man folded his coat and disappeared into his kitchen. There was the sound of scrambling and cupboard doors being thrown open. Lysandre walked to the doorway. The young researcher was kneeling on the work surface, reaching for some stowed-away treasure, teeth gritted in concentration as he held his balance.

"You look like you need a hand."

Lysandre moved behind him and wrapped a bracing arm around his chest, lifted him off the work surface and placed him back down. Sycamore stood on the kitchen tiles, clutching a bottle of port triumphantly.

He opened his mouth to offer his guest a drink, but before a word could escape him, Lysandre's lips caught him in a sudden kiss. His tongue worked past his teeth, well-muscled arms grasped his body, the heat of the other man pressed so close to him, and before he could stop to question his judgement, Sycamore was kissing him back. Fingers wound into that coarse red hair and squeezed his scalp. Breathless, fierce, desperate.

Lysandre released his grip, and the port thudded into the sink. Sycamore's eyes were narrowed with confusion as he struggled to process his racing thoughts.

"L… Lysandre-"

"I want you." Lysandre said. His voice clear and level, though his words were growing rushed together, as though he had been keeping them inside him for too long. "I want to fuck you. Don't tell me you haven't thought about this. I _know_. I know, Augustine Sycamore. You could have any girl in Kalos, but not one could give you what I can give you."

Sycamore's fine grey eyes were fixed on Lysandre's crotch as he unbuckled his belt, tugged down his clothing, and rested large hands on his hips.

Lysandre exhaled slowly, waiting for a sign from the other man. A second later, Sycamore sunk to his knees and gently wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock. His fist was filled with his swollen thickness, and Lysandre groaned as a thumb worked over the tip, glistening with pre-come.

"How long have you wanted me?" Sycamore whispered with a wicked grin. "Since I first-"

Lysandre grabbed a fistful of black hair and thrust past Sycamore's parted lips, forcing a moan of arousal from the other man. He eagerly welcomed the other man's cock into the warmth of his mouth, and withdrew to the hilt, swirling his tongue back over the glans before working back down, more swiftly this time. Lysandre's teeth were gritted in an effort against whimpering.

"I'm going to fuck you…" he muttered, winding his fingers tighter as heat surged in his nether regions. "Going to fuck you. So hard." Sycamore's slick fingertips were massaging the swoop of skin beneath his balls, his lips stretched over the base of his cock. Without warning, Lysandre felt a sudden jab; a blunt, pleasurable assault against him, and a second later, he gasped with premature completion, spilling his seed in Sycamore's throat.

"Fuck, fuck," he panted. Sycamore withdrew, smiling. There was then a bizarre feeling of suction, almost of _sliding_, and he realised what had forced him over the edge.

"You creepy shit!" Lysandre hissed, backing into the doorway. "What did you do that for?" Sycamore struggled to his feet.

"I thought you may like- wait-"

"What?"

"You don't want to stay?"

"No." Lysandre zipped his trousers and fastened his belt. "I shouldn't have come here. It was stupid of us." Sycamore stood glued to the spot as Lysandre pulled on his jacket and headed for the door. His hand paused above the handle.

"Nobody can know about this," he said. His voice was strangled.

"I know. You can trust me not to tell-"

"How do I know that?"

"I promise. You have my word!"

"I don't believe you." Lysandre wrung his hands and growled. "Just… leave me alone. I'm done with you now. And if I see you following me around for more, I'll-I'll-"

Sycamore let the door slam behind the towering figure. After what felt like an age, he sunk into a chair and rested his head in his hands. He noted numbly that Lysandre had forgotten to take the newest issue of Hoenn Tech away with him.

A sizeable crowd had formed in Magenta Plaza to play audience to the tall, wild-haired youth who stood on an upturned mago berry crate. Other Lumiosians slowed their pace to catch a few words as they passed, carrying bags of shopping with their children and Furfrou in tow.

The man's voice rung from wall to wall.

"Our obstacles are great, but if we work together to force the world to change its ways immediately, we _can_ create a future worth living in. Petitions and marches are useless now. We may as well be wishing on stars! The time for gentle protest passed a long time ago-"

Sitting around three covered tables outside a little restaurant _Save Our Future_ watched Lysandre as he spoke. Camille, who was wearing her favourite vegan sandals with her grey hair in a long plait, turned to their chairman.

"The lad's found his voice, Robert."

"It looks that way, doesn't it? Hmm." The chairman said. _Save Our Future_ had been founded more than twenty years ago and he had seen countless bold young revolutionaries become disillusioned with their dreams of militant action as they learnt to face the real world. Some had left them entirely while others grew to accept _Save Our Future_'s slow, peaceful ways of protest.

"He'll get bored soon enough," Robert said.

"Ah, I don't know about that. From the looks of it, momentum's already building behind him. His childish stunt on the cooling tower may have worked after all."

"Do you remember that nice Jeanette? Everyone was talking about her after she destroyed the ballots in the mayoral elections. Got invited onto the radio for _Time for Questions_. Must be… ooh, twelve years ago?"

Camille's forehead creased until she assumed the appearance of a wrinkled apricorn.

"Ooooh yes, I remember. Charming girl, until she shaved her head. What happened to her?"

"She got engaged to a nice boy with a berry farm and gave up her politics. And our Lysandre'll get distracted soon enough. I may be old, but I know how kid politicians think, Camille. I was one too, a long time ago." They settled back into their seats. Lysandre seemed to be drawing to a close now. His voice was vibrating with barely contained anger at the injustice of the world. Camille scratched at her chin.

"What of Lysandre's little friend? The pretty boy."

"Ho. Don't ask me; I haven't seen him in weeks. Lysandre! Come and sit down!" Robert waved his paper napkin in the air as Lysandre stepped down from his makeshift podium and pushed his way back through his crowd, which was clapping enthusiastically for him.

"I'm busy, can't you see?"

"Not too busy for a word with us, surely?" Camille smiled. She checked the pot and poured out a fresh cup of tea. "Have a biscuit, my dear. You deserve a rest."

Reluctantly, Lysandre shook hands with the last of his supporters, and settled his frame into a chair. With his bright plumage and sharply tailored suit, he made quite a contrast to the two grey environmentalists, who hardly looked as though they belonged in the fashionable centre of Lumiose City.

"You're quite the public speaker. The Mayor herself would be proud."

"Thank you. I need to become comfortable speaking in front of crowds like this and larger?"

"Do you now?"

"Yes." Lysandre crunched a biscuit, brushing invisible specks of dust away from his collar. "_Save Our Future_ has been in a state of decay for too long. I've got something I have to tell you. When you step down at the next AGM, I will be running for the chairmanship. I hope I can count on you for your support. And yours, Camille."

"Who gave you the impression that I was stepping down?" Robert bristled. Lysandre shrugged, holding the rest of his biscuit between his thumb and forefinger.

"It's what they're all saying, you know. After all, it's a wearying job for a man who is getting on in years, isn't it?"

"I have been chairman for the last fourteen years…."

"And what have you achieved in those long fourteen years?" Lysandre whipped into combatant mode, eyes flaring with the challenge. "Tell me. Because I think it's time for a drastic change in direction."

"You will _not_ belittle my efforts like that," Robert said. "Since I've taken up the chairmanship, Save Our Future has gone steadily from strength to strength. Do you not remember when we gathered five hundred people and their Pokémon to march against the construction of that off-coast oil rig? Hmm? I doubt it. You were still learning to count to ten."

"That was years ago. And months later it was just put up a few miles down the line! You're out of touch."

"You have no acceptance of reality, Lysandre!"

"Hey! What's going on here?"

"Lysandre is planning to challenge Robert for the chairmanship of _Save Our Future_."

"Well, I'm not going to vote for him." There was a murmur of indignant agreement amongst the rest of the kindly environmentalists. Lysandre laughed dryly.

"You senile old fools. You don't know what you're missing."


	5. Chapter 5

It was ten years to the day since a unanimous vote had excommunicated Lysandre from the provincial pressure group, _Save Our Future_. But from the ashes of his bitter rejection was born something new. Something radical.

Team Flare now spread from the ancient stone forests of Geosenge to the dry plains of mountainous Kalos. It was more than just an interest group; it was a business that spread like a bush fire. It was the most environmentally responsible corporation in all of Kalos. It was a force at the forefront of technological development.

Lysandre Labs, charitably funded from Team Flare's profits, had become a household name with the development of the Holo Caster, which revolutionised the way the Pokémon world was connected. No young trainer would think of leaving home without a communications device engraved with the exclusive double L that spoke of style and modernity.

The elite lifestyle bought into by members of Team Flare was universally desired and the few who spoke out against Team Flare were disregarded as bitter for not being able to afford the admittedly steep membership fee.

Widely admired, elusive and blazing, Lysandre himself lived alone in a generously proportioned penthouse flat in the centre of Lumiose City, opposite the upmarket café that he managed in his spare moments.

Through Lysandre's windows, Prism Tower shimmered with the last light of the day. Citizens and their Pokémon companions leaked through the streets like water beneath a bridge, far away.

Lysandre wiped sweat from his brow with a clean towel, rolling his weights back onto the low shelves with the rest of his gym equipment. Only a year ago, he had been overweight, his trunk flabby and his undefined chin hidden behind his beard. It was too easy to make excuses to fall out of shape when he lived such a busy life, rushing from one town to the next with a paper bag of snacks in his briefcase.

But how could he expect the people to look after Kalos and the world beyond if he couldn't even look after himself? How could he achieve a beautiful world when he was himself decaying?

It felt so right to return to his flat after work, and push his body to the limit until he ached to move. The burn was addictive.

Only months later and his determination had paid off. His heavy frame had grown powerful and muscular, and he had grown proud. He stood taller, he spoke louder, and with his resplendent mane of red hair surrounding his face, it was popularly said that he resembled the old Kings of Kalos.

He had long ago shed the skin of Lysandre: the naïve kid who wanted to save trees and protest Wailmers. Nobody could accuse him of being insubstantial now. He had become no less than a lion, with a bite to match his roar, and thousands behind him.

Lysandre stalked to his desk and unfolded the scrap of lined paper that he had unfolded and inspected a hundred times already that day. His blue eyes narrowed as he scanned over the words again. He waited to feel a sense of joy, a spark of excitement, _anything_.

Coming from his girlfriend of three years, he shouldn't have been so taken aback by it.

_Marry me, Lysandre._

Well, why shouldn't he have expected it? At thirty-four, Lysandre was hardly a boy. Many younger colleagues were nurturing families already. Perhaps it really was time for him to settle down with a woman, and as a constant presence in his life for the past few years, Elsa was the obvious choice. She was devoted to him; always ready to drop what she was doing and heed to his call.

She had proved herself competent and loyal, staying at his side since the very beginning. It didn't hurt that she was an excellent vegan chef and certainly attractive enough to be at his side at public engagements. The sex was nice enough.

Still, marriage never occurred to him as something that would become a reality. Not in his life at least.

_Marry me, Lysandre._

"I don't love her." He said. It felt right, and then, he understood. And he didn't know what to do.

* * *

Lysandre Café was red all over, from the thick, luxurious carpet to the light shades that hung from the ceiling. The man himself had checked over every detail of interior design himself to ensure that all was tasteful as he had envisioned it.

Lysandre occupied the backmost table. A tower of teacakes was arranged on the table in front of him and untouched cup of coffee was cooling to room temperature. His faithful Pyroar was asleep beneath the table; a hot heap on his feet.

Had his message made it through the obstacle course of contacts between them? There too many ways that the stupidity of his own workforce or the employees of the Sycamore Pokémon Laboratory could have resulted in it being lost somewhere along the way.

He couldn't let his paranoia get the better of him; it never turned out well. He had to be patient and trust things to happen on their own. After a few agonising minutes, his Honchkrow swooped into the café and landed on its trainer's broad shoulder. It shook itself out. Lysandre petted its feathers and it ruffled itself in contentment.

"Well, Honchkrow? Did you see him?"

The bird squawked a confirmation. It lifted into the air again and settled on the picture rail behind the counter, only to receive a disapproving glare from the head chef. He batted it away from the coffee machine with a wooden spoon before skulking away to the kitchen.

The bell above the door tinkled.

Lysandre jumped to his feet, jerking his Pyroar out of its nap. Pyroar snarled, leaping onto all fours. Its tail swayed hazardously. Standing in the cafe was a lean man in his mid-thirties. A white coat was slung over one arm, and in his right hand he clasped a Pokéball, ready to release the creature inside. He lowered the Pokéball slowly.

"Lysandre?"

"Come here." Lysandre commanded. Wordlessly, his exiled friend closed the gap and stood before him. It had been ten years. His hair was thick and unruly as ever, his frame slender and chin dark with stubble, but his face had grown shadowed and lines had appeared around his eyes. As he spoke, his voice was deeper than Lysandre remembered.

"I thought your message may have been a trick." Sycamore said, drinking in the sight of Lysandre of Team Flare, who stood before him in the flesh for the first time in so long.

"Not a trick, my friend. Sit down."

"Thank you. I've been watching you in the news," he confessed, resting his elbows on the table. "It's difficult to go a week without hearing of your ventures in some field or other. You've done great things for science."

"Thank you."

"I've been wanting to see you. For a long time. But after what you told me when we last-"

"That was ten years ago. Take a teacake."

"Oh, no! I'm not hungry."

"I implore you to try one." Lysandre said. He watched as Sycamore plucked a bun from the pile and tore off a chunk with his teeth. "It's good, isn't it? I hire only the finest chefs to cater for my establishments."

"Ha ha, that doesn't surprise me," Sycamore said genially. He finished the teacake. "I don't know how to begin to congratulate you on all your achievements over the decade. You have given so much to Kalos! I feel truly humbled."

"That's a sincere compliment to hear from the youngest Pokémon Professor Kalos has ever seen. I've followed your research closely. You interest me as much today as you did before Team Flare was born. The world owes you thanks for your work."

Sycamore inclined his head.

"It was an uphill fight. My seniors still believe I lack the depth of experience to take on the role. Truly, if it hadn't been for the support from my students and the wider community, I wouldn't be where I am now."

"I see."

"One of my responsibilities is to help children with the first steps on their journeys to become trainers. It's a very precious moment to be a part of."

"And the research?"

"It's slow. If I didn't have any fuss with lectures or new trainers, I'd have more time for research. I can't imagine how you find enough hours in a day to run a café."

"Team Flare is efficiently managed from the top down." Lysandre said. "I handpick every employee. They are all educated and experienced, and skilled trainers too." He stroked Pyroar's back, and the Pokémon stretched itself out lazily before seating itself on the floor once again. "Tell me what else you've done since I saw you last. Are you married?"

The question was redundant; Sycamore's hand rested on the tabletop between them. His bare ring finger twitched.

"No."

"Engaged?"

"No, nor engaged. I am married to my work, Lysandre! How about yourself?"

Lysandre thought for a moment before answering. "Elsa proposed to me earlier this week." Sycamore's eyes widened slightly. "You never knew her. She and I had been… together for nearly three years."

"Well?"

"I ended it. The girl's devastated, but it had to be done. I didn't love her. I needed a reminder of reality to see that." Sycamore leaned in closer, though there was nobody in the café to overhear them. He didn't know what to say. Lysandre could be just as dangerously unpredictable as before.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be sorry; you never knew her. She had a good heart. I've come to realise that I'll never marry."

"Hey, I'm sure you will. It just takes time to find-"

"No, Sycamore. Tell me about yourself. Tell me about Diantha."

"_Diantha_? What about Diantha?"

"Your photographs are printed in the gossip pages every week. I want to know what's happening." Sycamore laughed aloud.

"Oh! No, I'm sorry to disappoint you. Diantha is a wonderful friend and talented trainer but nothing more intimate than that. She has a partner who prefers to stay out of the limelight." Sycamore grinned broadly. Lysandre returned a smile, and they laughed. It was as though the decade apart had matured their friendship, rather than estranged them. Sycamore leaned over the table. "Something very important has happened to me, Lysandre."

"What is it?"

"I-I'm a father now." Sycamore said. Lysandre stared blankly back at him, and he continued, more quickly. "I have a son…. he's six. He lives in Snowbelle City but I visit every year, as his godfather. And a daughter too, only eighteen months. I-"

"What? How? How could you do that? How could you be so irresponsible?"

"The pregnancies were never planned. If there was anything else I could have done-"

"Right. I don't know why you told me that. I didn't need to know." Lysandre didn't have anything else to say on the matter. Sycamore observed that his strict moralistic attitudes hadn't loosened one bit. He felt a flush of frustration rise at the proud man opposite him.

_It doesn't matter_, he told himself. _It doesn't matter one bit_. He was as free a bachelor as he was ten years ago, and so was Lysandre. The two of them could reach great heights together. They had ten missing years of collaboration to make up for.

"I'm glad you called for me."

"And I look forward to working with you, Professor Sycamore."


	6. Chapter 6

Lysandre followed the Professor's conspicuously attractive assistant out of the lift on the third floor. The Sycamore Pokémon Laboratory was high-ceilinged and pillared, its walls covered with rich paper and Pokémon oil paintings. Gleaming, anachronistic machinery was surrounded by work benches and groups of researchers in white coats. The atmosphere was casual, and far from the clinical airs of Lysandre's own lab.

To his irritation, he was made to wear a visitor's pass on a lanyard, and not allowed past reception unaccompanied by a member of staff.

Didn't they know who he was?

"The Professor is still seeing the children from Vaniville Town, sir. You will have to wait until they have left before he can see you," the assistant peered through the circular window in the door before them.

Professor Sycamore wore a white coat. He was bent to the same level as the five children who stood around him in a semicircle.

"And for you, Shauna. Chespin; the grass type Pokémon," he was saying. A small mammalian creature with a spiny head was propped up over his shoulder. He lowered it to the floor before the girl in pink, who squealed in delight. Chespin sniffed at her sandals curiously.

"Oh, it's such a cutie! Thank you, Professor!"

"Look after it well. If you work hard with Chespin and fight through many battles by its side, eventually it may evolve into Quilladin. The most important thing for all of you to remember is that Pokémon are not our slaves. They are our friends and the bonds between you are what make a great trainer."

"I'll always be kind to Froakie," promised a boy in blue, who had his new Pokémon gathered in his arms. The Professor straightened up and turned back to his desk, shuffling through papers that Lysandre couldn't see. His Garchomp was poised regally in the corner of the room, perfectly behaved around the children.

_Pokémon are not our slaves. _If only more people truly believed that, Lysandre thought to himself. These children may be tender now, but as they grew older, their hearts would harden and their Pokémon would only be there to work to the bone for their gain.

"Here are your Pokédexes. It will keep a record of every Pokémon you encounter, so you'll never forget a battle! See if you can eventually fill it. That would be a wonderful achievement."

"Easy," said the boy with the Froakie. "I can do that." Sycamore laughed and patted the boy's shoulder.

"I'm sure you will. Show me your Pokédex as you fill it with entries. You should be able to find me here."

"Thank you!"

Lysandre backed away from the door as Sycamore approached. He pushed it open, and the five kids streamed through, chattering excitedly.

"Clare will show you the way out of the laboratory. I'll see you soon, I'm sure. Good luck with your journeys! And most importantly, never give up on your dreams!" Sycamore folded his arms and leaned back against the doorway, beaming as the five children pattered down the corridor with their new Pokémon by their sides.

Garchomp thumped across the carpet and nuzzled the Professor's neck. He petted its snout absent-mindedly.

"Finished?" Lysandre asked. Professor Sycamore jumped.

"Oh! How long have you been waiting?"

"Long enough," Lysandre said. He followed Sycamore back into his office, and the door swung shut behind them. He gave Garchomp a quick pat on its mighty haunches. "I don't understand why you insist on seeing all the children personally. Let somebody less busy deal with them."

"I've already told you," Sycamore said firmly. "I treasure this responsibility." He piled a stack of leftover Pokédexes back into the cardboard box and kicked it under his desk. "I know you've always thought on a larger scale than me, and I admire that. But I like to make time to help the new trainers. Little pleasures. Those children will all do their bit to change the world. Just you wait and see."

"Have you got the journals?"

"Yes. I've bookmarked a few recent reports on megaevolution you may find interesting. The only problem is that the process still hasn't been replicated in a controlled environment. There are a number of theories as to why not. My own is that the transformation cannot be stimulated in the sterile situation that a good experiment would require. The bond between a Pokémon and its trainer may be essential to achieving temporary evolution."

"If that was true, a heartless man would never be able to harness the power of megaevolution," Lysandre said thoughtfully. "It would never be used on a military scale."

"No. I was lucky enough to hear news from Sinnoh of a Garchomp who achieved megaevolution to defeat its opponent in the final throes of a gym battle. I've brought my Pokémon into work with me every day as a test subject since. Garchomp behaves well, and provides me with wonderful company when I work late at night."

"When did it evolve?"

"Less than a year ago. I still haven't adjusted to the change. Its appetite is unbelievable. Isn't it?" Garchomp yawned widely, exposing rows upon rows of teeth. "It swallows dead Furrets whole for snacks, but it knows to leave the starter Pokémon alone. Here we go." Sycamore unclipped a stuffed plastic envelope from a file and slipped it in the bag with the rest of the literature.

"Thank you. I must go; I have important work to do. But I want to see you again soon, Professor Sycamore. I have much to tell you about."

"I'd like that. I'm always ready to listen to you. We can meet at your café again. Tomorrow evening?"

"No, we need complete privacy. Come to my flat. I'll leave my address with your secretary." Lysandre grasped Sycamore's hand, and shook it, squeezing his fingers firmly. Sycamore smiled.

"Goodbye for now."


	7. Chapter 7

The Professor arrived smelling of tobacco. His shirt was freshly singed and his white coat was slung over the strap of his laptop bag. He had clearly come straight from the lab, and looked particularly rugged in comparison with Lysandre, who was dressed in a finely tailored suit with flame-orange piping.

"Come in," Lysandre said. "Make yourself comfortable. Have some wine. I've ordered in a casket of the best red you'll ever taste."

"Thank you. You are too kind."

"How did you burn your shirt?"

"One very feisty Charmander," Sycamore sighed, picking at the mark. He accepted a glass from Lysandre, and took a short sip. "I'm truly sorry I've had to set this talk back so many times. I've been busy working in the evenings. I barely sleep these days. Before I know it, my hair will be grey as ash!"

"I am sorry for your situation. It is one that I understand."

"I heard about some ruckus caused by Team Flare near Geosenge. What was that about? I couldn't find any agreement between the reports in the news. Was everything hushed-up?"

"Our in-field investigations for Lysandre Labs were being tampered with. All is settled now." Lysandre reassured him. Sycamore nodded, accepting the explanation, and produced a cigarette. "You can't smoke that in here. How long has it been since your last, anyway?"

"An hour? I'll give up eventually."

"Put it away. I didn't invite you to my flat so I could watch you puffing smoke into my furniture."

"I'm sorry."

"Nevermind. You're here now, and that's what is important. I have been waiting to speak to you in complete confidence. I want to share with you my plans for Kalos. I know that when I make my intentions public, many will consider me absurd and dangerous. But this is the product of ten years of observation and innovation, and I am certain that it is the right path. My aims are… difficult to achieve. And vast. Radical."

"I never had a doubt that you'd settle for anything less."

"I have come to accept that the world is heading towards a slow apocalypse. Mankind is to blame, but our leaders are too full of greed to stop, and now it's too late. Our planet will be barren, overpopulated, starved. Drained of its beauty. Ruined." Lysandre spoke with ardent sincerity. "Many people are aware of the situation but do nothing to stop the destruction of this planet."

"I know."

"You are one of those people. And for too much of my life, I have been idle as well."

"You are one of the least idle people I've ever met. Look at everything you've achieved."

"It still isn't enough. As a planet, we have reached the point of no return. All that is left to do is shape a future in which some trace of natural beauty may be retained. And there is only one certain way to do that. We have to raise arms against our greatest enemy, not just speak censored words of concern."

"What you say is true."

"I know that. Tell me, Professor. What would you suggest is the biggest threat to a sustainable future?"

"A lack of funding for research into alternative energy resources," Sycamore answered instantly. Lysandre shook his magnificent head. He was prowling back and forth, restless, one large hand grasping his own wine glass.

"You're wrong. It's overpopulation. Of both people and of Pokémon. The planet only has finite resources. The more we multiply, the less there remains for each of us. And the world is stripped bare."

"There is little to be done about overpopulation without enormous breaches of human rights. That's obvious."

"We have no choice left! Something has to be done. But who is going to do it? Who will be the one to challenge everything we know?" Lysandre asked. He gazed at the other man. His eyes were aflame. "Am I being unreasonable to ask that?"

"I don't know," Sycamore admitted. "Perhaps not. Though such a scheme to combat it is not something I can readily imagine."

"Not many are willing to imagine it, let alone organise a viable plan or write it into policy," Lysandre said. "But _I have a vision_. The pieces of my scheme are falling into place. I cannot say how long it will take."

"And what do you want from me? I don't know how much I can help you," Sycamore said. "If you want a team of brainpower behind you, I can offer you my the minds of my brightest students but-"

"Whyever would I want the minds of your students?"

"I can be of little use. I study theoretical Pokémon evolution. I've no experience in environmental sciences. I'd dedicate my lab to your cause if it would help, but I don't see how it can."

"I already have a fine team of scientist. I want your support. That is all." Lysandre said. He stopped his pacing, and stopped, standing before Sycamore. He looked every bit a proud commander, and there was not one part of Augustine Sycamore which stood to resist him.

"You have my support," he replied. He grasped Lysandre's hand with both of his own. "I've always known that you were destined for leadership. If anyone is the one to truly save our future, it's you."

"And you promise to back me all the way?"

"Yes. Without a second thought."

"You can begin proving yourself tonight," Lysandre said. He placed his glass down on a small table covered with a square of blood red cloth. "Come to bed."

* * *

As he had promised, there were no second thoughts to hold him back. Sycamore followed his host into the bedroom. There was just one very small, high window. The bed was laid with black sheets; not the scarlet of Team Flare that Sycamore had come to expect. Lysandre's Pokéballs were arranged in a beautiful wooden case on his desk, its lid open. There were few personal touches to be noted; reading glasses on his bedtime table, and the most recent pile of journals Sycamore had leant him, seemingly left unread on his desk.

"You're an intelligent man. Don't waste my time by pretending not to know what I want from you tonight," Lysandre said. His hand brushed the small of his back, and through thin fabric, he could sense the other man's body. After so many years of imagination and distant memory, Sycamore's body felt so _real _beneath his fingers. It took all of his restraint to retain a gentle touch.

"I want it too," Sycamore said. "But I don't understand why _you_ want this. Last time-"

"I crave beauty. Is that enough to satisfy your curiosity?"

It was. Sycamore slipped his arms around him, feeling the contours of his back; his first steps in the exploration of Lysandre's body. He tilted his head, and their lips closed in a kiss.

It was soft and lingering. Lysandre cupped Sycamore's chin in his hands, and the stubble of his cheeks bristled against his fingers. The Professor's tongue met his own. His kiss tasted of tobacco and red wine. Lysandre's hands trailed past Sycamore's throat, resting on his collar, where he began to unpick his buttons.

_You can only unwrap a present once_. Fine black hair caught between Lysandre's fingers as he grazed over his chest. Sycamore, seemingly lacking the other man's patience, was clutching Lysandre's leather belt with both hands, his swelling crotch grinding against the top of Lysandre's thighs.

He freed Lysandre of his belt and trousers and grasped the weight of his manhood through silk underwear.

"Come on, Lysandre," he moaned. "I've been waiting long enough." He shuffled his shoulders, dropping his own shirt on the floor and began to nimbly remove Lysandre's cravat, jacket and white shirt, expert fingers flying from button to button. Lysandre's body was thick and muscled beneath his clothing, so unlike the soft feminine fleshiness that was all Sycamore had known for the last year.

The men tumbled onto the bed. Sycamore landed atop Lysandre's bulk and hands went to his Sitrus-yellow belt. He was seated on the other man's hips, spine curved back and crotch thrust forward, a clear, silent command for Lysandre to unbuckle his belt.

As the remains of his clothing were thrown aside, he leaned forwards over Lysandre, resting his weight on his knuckles. His cock was hard and pink. It curved against his stomach, aligned with the dark trail that led down to his pubic hair. He took himself in his palm, watching Lysandre's lusty gaze. Pushing aside black cloth, he held the other man's erection against his own, and stroked them both. Lysandre was leaking precome from his aching tip.

Lowering his upper body slightly, Sycamore pressed his own cock against Lysandre's, and gyrated his hips. Lysandre moved with him, wrapping his arms around Sycamore's back and squeezing his body so close that he did not know which heartbeat was his own.

The two men's eyes were locked on each other; grey and blazing blue, only inches apart.

"Does that feel good?" Sycamore breathed. "Do you want more?" Lysandre growled. Pinning Sycamore to his body with one bulging arm, he held up two fingers to the Professor's mouth. His lips parted instantly, and he sucked on the thick digits, slathering them with saliva before Lysandre withdrew them.

Lysandre's wandering hand grasped his arse, and squeezed, hard enough to bruise. He felt between his buttocks, quickly finding that intimate cleft, shut tight against intrusion. Sycamore squirmed atop him like a bug caught in a net.

Perhaps no-one had ever done this to him before? Lysandre felt blood pulse to his crotch at the thought of being the first man to fuck Augustine Sycamore..

"You're mine." Lysandre said. His slick fingers circled, pushing hard enough to feel around the edge of his hole. As Lysandre's first fingertip pushed inside, Sycamore gritted his teeth and groaned. His hands were bunched into empty, useless fists on the black sheets.

The resistance was incredible. Meat and muscle pressed against Lysandre's intruding fingers. Sycamore's sphincter twitched, but Lysandre only shoved harder. When he felt that he could go no further, he let the pressure of Sycamore's body slide his fingers out, only to jerk his wrist upwards again, and he could sense that he had forced the other man open a little deeper.

Sycamore was biting his lip, eyes tight shut. At the lightest push, he rolled onto his back, and Lysandre climbed between his legs, pumping his fingers harder.

He had never seen a person so stripped of control as Sycamore was at that moment. Without his clothing, effortless charm or academic titles to hide behind, this was Sycamore in most natural and vulnerable state. The thought filled Lysandre with a strange, calm confidence.

"Out of our comfort zone, are we?"

"Mmmmm."

"Do you want more?"

"Eurghh…" Sycamore gasped, weakly reaching for his leaking prick and desperately grasping it like a lifeline. "Yes. Yes, please." He yelped as a flat palm stung across his arse, bidding him to wait on all fours. He shuffled into position, face red with heat, arousal and humiliation.

Nobody had ever dared to treat him like _that_. Never had he truly given up control to another. And yet, with the red-haired beast of a man kneeling above him, Lysandre's will was his command. Somehow, it felt so right. As Lysandre explored him, he was certain that he had been waiting his entire life for somebody strong enough to earn his true devotion.

Somebody like Lysandre.

Thick fingers slipped from his body.

"Are you ready?" Lysandre asked. The end of his erection was bulging from his fist.

"Yes."

Lysandre closed the gap between them. The blunt tip of his cock pressed up against his waiting, puckered hole. After one, two, three, _four_ gentle pushes, Lysandre thrust with enough force to pierce Sycamore, burying his cock up to the hilt in his body.

Sycamore let out a howl and his shoulders collapsed.

Lysandre watched carefully as the other man panted, adjusting to the fierce intrusion. His hips remained propped up in the air by the meeting between their bodies. The pressure was like no sensation Lysandre had ever experienced. He had to close his eyes and breathe deeply to stop himself coming there and then.

"_Fuck_. Fuck, Lysandre."

He was so tight. Lysandre let the pressure of Sycamore's body squeeze him out until just the head of his cock was left forcing him open. He pushed back, slowly, until he was balls deep once again, steadying himself with his hands on the young Professor's hips.

Unable to hold back for any longer, Lysandre began to fuck Sycamore with relish. At first, it was a battle to open him up inside, but as his flesh settled around him, it became easier to pump his cock into his warm, tight body.

After a few minutes of the assault, Sycamore had managed to regain use of his limbs, and was clambering back onto his hands and knees, gasping with each thrust. The pain of friction was mingled with a deep pleasure as Lysandre's cock bumped against his prostate, harder and harder. He wrapped his hand back around his aching, abandoned erection.

"I'm going to come," Lysandre hissed. He leaned over Sycamore's body, supporting himself with one arm, and wrapping the other around his chest, enclosing him so tightly that Sycamore could only manage the shallowest of breaths.

His buttocks clenched and loosened rapidly as he pumped into the other man. There was a long, strangled moan from Sycamore as he tipped himself over the edge, come splattering the sheets.

A moment later, Lysandre groaned deeply. A shudder of pleasure spread from his crotch to the corners of his body. He continued to thrust for a few seconds before sliding out with a soft pop, and tumbling onto the bed.

Sycamore rolled onto his back. Oxygen filled his lungs. For a long while, the two men lay in silence as their pulses slowed to steady beats. Sycamore felt strangely empty, as though a hollow had been carved out of his body. He shifted onto his side to gaze at Lysandre, who was staring at the ceiling.

He was undeniably handsome, but it wasn't his body that drew Sycamore to him. There was something about him that exuded power and leadership. Sycamore wasn't the only one to sense it. After all, Lysandre had followers from every corner of Kalos.

He knew in his heart that this was the man who was going to lead the world into a brighter future.


	8. Chapter 8

Lysandre's fingers rapped on his desk impatiently. His office was cast in the pale, unnatural glow of the emergency lighting which lined the skirting boards. His Honchkrow was cawing gently. It scratched at the walls with its beak.

Something had gone horribly wrong.

He had known from the second that the chandeliers in the café had flickered out that Team Flare was facing an emergency. His bodyguards, still clad in their waiter's black, swiftly removed his customers from the establishment and locked the doors, while Lysandre had descended into his hidden complex, where an uncertain frenzy was breaking loose among his employees.

Now, he found himself powerless to do anything but await word from Kalos power plant. He had locked his door and forbidden anybody to disturb him unless they wanted some serious discipline. He was sick with anger and impatience.

Finally, his Holo Caster glowed with an incoming call, and the projection of a smartly dressed young woman appeared before him. It was Bryony. Her clipped voice crackled through the speaker.

"Blackout confirmed across large areas of Lumiose City and beyond, sir."

"I know that already. Most of Kalos knows that. Are you any closer to a solution?" Lysandre demanded. "I trusted Xerosic when he said that this procedure could be carried out with minimal disruption to routine operations. Where is he? Is sorting out this chaos?"

"I don't know, sir. I last saw him an hour ago."

"Find him. Enough of a mess has been made already. Complete the bypass immediately and get the lights back on. We need maximum security at the gates to the power plant. Don't let your Pokémon leave your side. If we act quickly, we may prevent this from becoming a disaster." He hung up and called for Celosia. Her image appeared seconds later.

"Hi, boss," she said, raising her visor and resting it in her cropped violet hair. Her broad, ever-present grin made Lysandre want to drown a Skitty.

"You had better be looking pleased for a good reason, Celosia. What is being done with the power plant employees?"

"They'll all under careful guard," she replied. Her eyes rolled to the side, clearly monitoring her surroundings. "Their communication devices have been, like, confiscated. There are a ton of television crews outside too. Dunno what you us to do about them. Everything's pretty lame right now."

"If communication seems with them necessary, stream a statement from a head of unit confirming that the power trip was entirely accidental. Team Flare can't afford to be implicated."

"Got it, boss. I'm leaving security now," Celosia said. "My skills are needed elsewhere. By which I mean in the control station with Bryony. We'll have this cracked in no time, don't you fret."

"Tell Xerosic to contact me. He has a lot to explain."

Lysandre tossed his Holo Caster back onto his desk and pressed his fingertips together, forming a steeple with his hands. How long had it been since he had stood atop the cooling tower of that very power plant with a painted banner in a rucksack as his only weapon? How much more potent he had grown since then!

And if Team Flare were found to have been siphoning power from the plant? He had still gone too far for that to hold him back. A thousand ages ago, it had only taken the passion of one man to use the legendary weapon to create peace where before there was war and destruction. And now it was Lysandre's turn.

Lysandre knew that it took somebody of great resilience to accept the sacrifices that must be made to achieve victory. It was a shame that nobody would be left to understand the necessity of his actions.

The screen of his Holo Caster was illuminated with yet another call, and Xerosic's pasty face stuttered into view.

"We've got intruders," he said. "Some very able young Pokémon trainers, as goes the word."

Lysandre slammed his fist against his desk, and his Honchkrow squawked, taking off into the air. How could Team Flare be so pathetic as to be pushed aside by mere _children_ the moment Lysandre turned his back?

"Stupid, meddling infants! Have you stopped them?"

"Not yet sir! I've deployed a task force to stop them. They've got no chance."

"Good. Do we have any confirmed identities?"

"No _sir_! They were caught on CCTV as they entered through the west entrance. We're carrying out an identity search right now."

"Show me." Lysandre ordered. Xerosic nodded his flabby head and peered down, fiddling with his Holo Caster input. A moment later, his project was gone, and replaced with equally fuzzy footage. A girl and a boy, surely no older than fifteen. Lysandre frowned at the blurred video. The boy's mouth moved as he uttered a silent command, wielding his Pokéball. A lean Frogadier hopped to his side.

Frogadier. Well known as the evolution of regional starter Pokémon; Froakie.

And then Lysandre remembered. Only months ago, watching as Kalos' foremost Pokémon Professor presented his child students with their first Pokémon. His hands balled into fists.

* * *

Eric watched as his supervisor squinted between his spreadsheet and his draft report. He cupped his unshaven chin with one hand and hummed to himself.

Though his grey-haired elders would shake their heads at his unconventional approach to academia, Professor Sycamore was without a doubt the most popular academic in Kalos. Eric knew he was privileged to have him supervise his PhD. The refreshing eloquence with which he spoke about his subject, along with his good looks and boyish amiability had resulted in applications to study Pokémon Evolution soaring.

Eric was stubbornly proud to say that he had decided to study Pokémon Evolution before the 'Sycamore Effort' had taken hold. His project on nonlocally induced evolution by water stones was nearly complete after a year and a half of tedious data collection. Most of that time had been spent bent over tanks of Staryu, imported from coastal Muraille.

"H-how does it look, Professor?" he asked.

"Excellent! The quality of your data must be the envy of PhD students, Eric! I'd suggest you include _these_ in your appendix, as it would be a shame not to use them at all." He drew a neat highlighter loop around a whole page of graphs, and flipped the page. "Now, these derivations can go in the appendix too, no need to fill pages and pages of your report with them. I trust that they're correct."

"Thank you," Eric said. He took back his freshly annotated report and folded his laptop shut. "If it's alright with you, Professor, I'd like to do a bit of supplementary experimentation… not for my thesis, just out of personal interest. Before we send the Starmie back, that is."

"You've not been demanding with space and funding over the last two years, Eric. This is my laboratory and I'd be honoured for you to use it to explore whatever interests you."

"Thank you, Professor!" Eric looked very pleased with himself as he squeezed out of his seat and waddled towards the door. "I'll have my final draft in well before the deadline, at this rate." He left, and the next student poked her frizzy head around the door.

Professor Sycamore checked his watch. It was half past four in the afternoon. He was in need of strong coffee. Summoning up a smile, he called out to the girl.

"Come in!"

"Thanks."

"Why, what a beautiful blouse, Rebecca!" he commented, as she placed herself at the other side of his desk. "Could I be right in guessing that you found it in _La Belle Buizel_?"

"Nearly right," Rebecca said. "My auntie is first seamstress for the _Buizel_. They'd sold out of my size so she made this one for me."

"Your auntie is lucky to have such a graceful clothes hanger as yourself," he said, inclining his head. "Now, while I would very much like to spend this meeting trading word of exclusive boutiques, I'd assume you're here to show me your progress on your suspension of level-up evolution project, no?"

"That's right."

"How is it getting along?"

"Slowly. Each individual Pokémon takes ages to prepare. And that's even though I've settled for using only bug-types. Imagine if I'd gone for the dragons project!"

"Hmm. I am concerned at the pace these Pokémon are being raised. Unless you pick it up a bit; you won't have enough data to make worthwhile conclusions. But you've elected for a difficult project, and I believe it could pay off. Yes! If you can't book any extra lab hours, feel free to use the garden to-"

There was a violent knock, and before Sycamore could raise his voice to enquire as to who was there, six feet and five inches of cold fury had exploded through the door and was stood bristling before him.

"Lysandre!" Sycamore straightened up in his seat. "I'm checking in with my students right now. Could you wait twenty minutes?" He knew as soon as the words left his mouth that his request was futile. Lysandre turned to the baffled postgraduate.

"Get out."

She didn't need to be told twice. With a fleeting glance at the Professor, Rebecca picked up her bag and fled, leaving the two men alone together. Lysandre leaned forward over the desk, and Sycamore stood, refusing to be belittled by his friend and lover.

"I don't know what you're here for."

"You know very well what I'm here for. Your students have been causing trouble, Sycamore."

"My students…?"

"Not these. I mean the little ones. Serena and Calem. And their new Pokémon. The Pokémon you gave them the first day I visited you here."

"Really now?" Sycamore laughed. "You must be joking."

"Don't play stupid," Lysandre growled. He snatched the front of Sycamore's shirt, and Sycamore's hands closed defensively around his fist. "You swore you'd support me no matter what. You _know_ how important it is for my plans to run smoothly. The complications are great enough as they stand. How could you do this to me? Team Flare's reputation could have been ruined. All because those children couldn't resist sneaking around where they have no business to be."

"They broke into the power plant," Sycamore whispered. "When the power was down, they went to investigate. That's what you're talking about, isn't it?" Lysandre stared at the bewildered Professor. He released the iron grip on his clothing.

"Yes."

"Then it was you who was responsible for the blackout." Sycamore swallowed. The realisation that he knew almost nothing of the details of Lysandre's grand scheme began to dawn on him.

"There should have never been a blackout," Lysandre explained. "Our operation was botched by the incompetence of certain members of my staff. While Team Flare's most able scientists were working to find a solution, your students fought past security and caused chaos. They made everything more difficult."

"Lysandre. You _have_ to explain why Team Flare hijacked the power station. I can't understand why it would ever be necessary" Sycamore demanded. He had accepted long ago that Lysandre would probably have to conduct illicit activities in order to reach his goal, but felt a sting at this having been kept entirely from him.

"We need resources on a huge scale, Sycamore! Now _you_ tell _me_; why did you send your students to the power station? Or are you going to continue to insist that you know nothing?"

"Serena and Calem have always acted independently. You seem to think that they're my puppets. But unlike you, I don't keep minions. They're living their own adventures, just as we did when we were younger."

"They're interfering where they have no business to. I want them reined in."

"Why, they're just children, Lysandre! You can't be so paranoid as to feel threatened by them!"

"They defeated dozens of my staff in combat!"

"I have spoken highly of you to them," Sycamore said, forcing his voice to be calm. "They'll not deliberately obstruct you again, I promise."

Lysandre opened his mouth to retort, and then closed it. Sycamore's hands were gripping the edge of his desk and trembling slightly. He was a brilliant scientist and full of vivacity, but his will was weak. Lysandre saw in him an almost pathological need to yield to the great and powerful, and Sycamore had found him. He was as devoted as a pet. He had never tried to conceal things from him before. Perhaps he really was telling the truth.

"You need to have a word with your students. Don't let them be a nuisance." Lysandre's voice was softer now. "I'll see you tonight in my flat."


	9. Chapter 9

Lysandre's flat was in a state of disorder for the first time. It looked as though he had been skimming through newspapers, reports and letters before abandoning them to the floor. His Holo Caster was on the floor and the half-eaten carcass of some unidentifiable mammalian Pokémon; most likely Pyroar's dinner, lay abandoned in the kitchen.

Sycamore noted that the stack of journals he had lent him remained untouched.

Lysandre poured his guest a fifth whisky, and he accepted gratefully. Thanks to Lysandre's hospitality, he had already finished most of a bottle of wine that evening. He didn't want to find himself becoming drunk. It wasn't the right time.

"I am following you blindly," he said. "I never asked exactly how you were going to achieve a better future for the world."

"It doesn't matter. It's nothing for you to lose sleep over." Lysandre said gently. "You're not complicit in it. Team Flare does my legwork for me and our relationship is strictly unprofessional."

"And if I joined Team Flare?" Sycamore asked. Lysandre stopped pacing and looked carefully at his guest, as though seeing him in a different light for the first time; not just as a faithful companion, but a potential mine of brilliance, dressed in the crisp scarlet of Team Flare. He tugged at his beard.

"You'd immediately be promoted to an executive role," he said. Sycamore shook his head and smiled.

"It won't happen; it was a rhetorical question. I belong at the Pokémon lab. I can't give up my chair after I've worked so hard to be taken seriously in academia."

"You'd be paid well. You'd have more than you could ever earn in research."

"I'm not willing to become your employee," he said shortly. "I want you to trust me as an old friend. I want you to tell me exactly the nature of this revolution. I know we need it desperately, and anything less than a military approach is doomed to fail. I know you're the only man who can make it happen. I've been beside you from the start. Please confide in me and tell me what you're doing." Lysandre took a sip of whisky.

"That information is restricted to myself and those within my employ. This conversation is over."

Sycamore gripped his glass tightly. His mind raced with questions, accusations, pleas and demands. He knew as a scientist that trust was never earned without rigorous reason. Lysandre was expecting a bound of faith from him that was almost religious.

He knew that Lysandre was something different. He was the man who would lead the world to a better future; he had no doubt in his mind about that. Perhaps it wasn't for him to question the means by which Lysandre would mould his perfect world.

"Drink up," Lysandre said amiably. He splashed more whisky in Sycamore's glass, and pushed it to his lips. Sycamore willingly drank, swallowing every drop. The glass was replaced by the mouth of the bottle, and he choked, spilling whisky over his chin and shirt. He laughed, and shoved Lysandre.

Lysandre pulled him down onto the carpet atop his body, and they kissed sloppily. Sycamore pushed his hair out of his eyes and grinned, exposing wine-stained teeth. He had been stupid to accept so much to drink, he knew, although he wasn't sure if he cared. His chest was warm with whisky and his head was already starting to thud uncomfortably; as if his skull wasn't quite large enough to fit his expanding insides. He sighed.

"Do you love me, Lysandre?"

"How could you doubt that I love you?" Lysandre replied gently. Sycamore blinked down at him. He looked sensational. Vibrant red hair surrounded his head like a halo. "Do you love me?"

"Yes. More than you love beauty and more than men love greed." He reached down to unbutton Lysandre's shirt, and flayed it open. He placed a single kiss on his bare chest. Lysandre cradled the Professor's head in his hands. A bulge was straining against the fabric of Sycamore's trousers, and Lysandre knew that he had dodged the damning interrogation. He rolled over, trapping him beneath his weight. A moan issued from the drunken man's lips.

"You should have been a prince."

"I have a different revolution to thank for being born a common man," Lysandre said. Sycamore's hands were exploring his chest, running through dense hair and lingering over his firm stomach. Lysandre rolled Sycamore onto his back, clasping both his wrists above his head with one large hand. He forcefully tugged away Sycamore's underwear.

"Make love to me, Lysandre." Sycamore pleaded. His trapped body contorted obscenely. Lysandre released his wrists, and his submissive lover became limp, offering himself up to the other man. "Right here, right now." His thighs parted at a touch, and Lysandre's head bowed, rewarding Sycamore's compliance by taking his needy erection into his mouth and running his tongue from tip to base.

A strangled moan of pleasure issued from the Professor, louder than Lysandre had ever managed to force from him before. Sycamore's hips thrust jerkily into the wet cavern of his mouth, matching his movements. He lifted Sycamore's lower body from the carpet and released his cock. There was a brief whine as he began to lick his balls, lapping over the delicate globes. He could feel muscles tensing in the thighs that he supported in the crook of his arms.

Sycamore lay, propped up by the other man. He was leaking precome onto his stomach, and his face was flushed with a cocktail of drunkenness, pleasure and deep shame. Fingers eased between his buttocks, prying him apart, and he felt the slither a wet tongue circle around the rim of the opening where Lysandre fucked him.

His world was becoming a blur; the painful brightness of the lights hanging from the ceiling, his aching limbs, the alcohol slowing his motions, the blood rushing to his head. He closed his eyes and surrendered to the kaleidoscope of sensations, his frustration with Lysandre completely forgotten.


	10. Chapter 10

Geosenge Town lay in ruins, and Professor Sycamore knew without a doubt in his mind the man who was responsible for the destruction.

Night had fallen outside the laboratory many hours ago, though he hadn't yet risen to close his curtains. A small mountain of cigarette butts was growing in his ash tray.

He watched as the 24 hour news on his laptop screen, barely blinking. Images flashed of weeping residents, their homes destroyed by the vast structure that had ruptured from beneath the ground.

This pain was just the means towards the end, he told himself, striking up another light. He had always known sacrifices would be made. He had accepted that fact more than ten years ago, when Lysandre had first materialised in his life.

Three men appeared at his office door, all dressed in red. Two Mightyena and a Houndoom stood before them. Sycamore's eyes lifted slowly from the screen.

"Why, hello. Can I help you?"

"Professor Sycamore, sir. We're here to accompany to Lysandre's headquarters. Please come with us."

Sycamore shook his head, and exhaled a lungful of smoke. His body was hunched and his expression sullen. The shadows around his eyes had darkened noticeably. The three men standing before him struggled to match this miserable creature with the bright, eternally youthful man who was desired across the coasts and mountains of Kalos.

"No. Not today."

"This is for your own safety. Don't be concerned by anything you may have heard in the media. The truth will be explained to you once you're safe."

"How do I know I'll be safe?"

"Lysandre told me in person that he has no quarrel with you. He is a noble and forgiving man, and there is no place safer than by his side. Come with us."

"Get out of my lab," Sycamore said. He drew himself to his feet. "You have no right to be here. Get out, or I'll make you leave myself." There was a humourless chuckle.

"There are three of us and barely one of you. Threatening us would be unwise."

"You're right. No more warnings." Sycamore's hand darted into the pocket of his lab coat, and in an instant, a Pokéball was launched into the air. "Garchomp, go! Use dragon rush!"

The three canines yelped as the immense dragon exploded from its Pokéball, ready to spill blood. It screeched, and swooped at Houndoom, knocking the canine to the ground, where it mewled like a pup. The larger Mightyena bounded onto Garchomp's back, and sunk its teeth into its tough hide. Garchomp flailed and shook its wings, attempting to throw the stubborn dog from its body

"Mightyena, take down!"

The other Mightyena charged at Garchomp, head lowered. It collided with the dragon's exposed belly, and Garchomp staggered.

"Come on, Garchomp, I need you to stay strong!" Sycamore pleaded. Garchomp tossed the first Mightyena against a wall, where it crashed into an oil painting, dragging razor claws through the canvas.

"Move out of the way!"

"Get Sycamore! _Grab him_; we need to leave!"

"Use Earthquake!" Garchomp caught its trainer on its back. He wrapped his arms around its neck, eyes squeezed tight. It raised its head and let out a reptilian scream, summoning up the power of the earth. The room began to shudder; dust and rubble raining from the ceiling.

"Get out! Get out!" The three intruders were running for the lift, but the floor crumpled beneath them. They were weightless for a second before the floor beneath them halted their fall. Sycamore's aching arms failed him; he tumbled from his Pokémon's back and landed in a useless heap on the marble floor.

His office was reduced to debris that rained down on him.

"Garchomp!" he choked. "Garchomp!"

There was a deafening thud as his loyal friend collapsed beside him, motionless. He struggled to hoist up his upper body with his hands, and stared right down the barrel of a gun.

There was a shot, and Augustine Sycamore was cold on the floor.

* * *

The world outside was hysterical, but inside Lysandre's office, everything was silent and still. Head held high and hands behind his back, he stood, awaiting a sign of life from his lover. Minutes passed.

Lysandre was needed outside desperately, but he would make the world wait for him.

Three limbs of steel dragged on the floor behind him. They grew from a body of robotic machinery which lay against his spine; an original design by Mabel, the most innovative scientist in his employment. When powered up, life pulsed through the steel, rendering Lysandre _transhuman_. He was more than just a man; he was a saviour.

After a lifetime of preparation, he was ready. All that was left now was to awaken the legendary Pokémon and use its power to wipe the slate clean.

His perfect world was so close he could savour it.

A whimper. Lysandre removed his visor, which covered the upper half of his face, and knelt at Sycamore's side. He supported the weight of his head in gloved hands. If it wasn't for the flicker in the Professor's throat, he could have been mistaken for dead.

"Wake up, my love."

One cheek had been gashed brutally in the demolition of his office; it needed sterilising. Sycamore was barely recognisable for all the dust and blood that coated him. A choked noise escaped from his mouth. Lysandre had bound Sycamore's wrists and ankles in one secure knot behind his back, just in case he woke in a violent rage.

"Augustine. _Augustine_."

"L-Lysandre?" His eyelids opened weakly. "Where am I? Where is Garchomp?"

"You're safe. That's the most important thing."

"I can't move," he whispered. He was on his side, hog-tied, cheek pressed against the floor. Lysandre helped him into a kneeling position. Blue eyes met grey.

"I'll untie you once I'm sure you're safe. You should have followed the men I sent for you. Why did you put up such a fight?"

"They had their Pokémon out, ready to attack me. They had a gun…"

"A tranquilliser. I wouldn't let you come to any harm."

"But I didn't know that. And more than that; I was concerned for you. After what happened to Geosenge Town, I didn't know what would happen next. I thought you'd lost your mind."

"I have never been so well. We've been waiting eleven years for this day. The lengths I have gone to, the sacrifices I have made… none of this has been easy. It was the faith of Team Flare and your faith in me that made it possible for me to carry this through, or I would have lost my nerve long ago. The legendary Pokémon is waiting for me."

"The legendary Pokémon? You never mentioned- I don't know what you're talking about."

"Three thousand years ago, the King AZ summoned the power of an ancient Pokémon to end a devastating war. It took many lives to earn that peace, but the result was harmony. This is my plan."

"How many lives? How many lives will you take?" Sycamore asked. "I don't understand, Lysandre. You wanted to save our future-"

"This is the only way. You know as well as I do that we have no choice left," Lysandre insisted. His eyes were beginning to shine with desperate tears, as though pleading for a way out. "But _we_ can be safe. Only Team Flare will remain. The world will grow out of its bondage; beautiful and natural and unhurt by human greed. I want you to rebuild the world with me. It was always our dream."

"I thought you had your heart set on greater things."

"What do you mean?" Lysandre asked sharply. "How could I possibly dream bigger?"

"I wanted you to lead the world into a beautiful future," Sycamore said. Tears were streaming down both men's cheeks now. "This isn't a solution. This is complete destruction."

"No, please stand by me. The future needs you; your drive, your brilliance, your optimism. You promised you would stand by me. Don't you love me, Augustine?"

"I'm sorry. I can't be a part of this. You are not the man I knew."

Lysandre stared at the defiant Professor. Anger seared through his body like a blazing flame.

"If you refuse to join me, you will die, along with every other being on this planet!" Lysandre screamed. He wrung his hands and scraped his scalp desperately. "I can't let you suffer out there like a common, selfish stranger, Augustine; you're too good for that end."

Lysandre shoved Sycamore back onto the floor, crushing his awkwardly bent limbs. He gripped a handful of long black hair and tilted his head back forcefully, exposing the vulnerable beat of his throat. His hand, encased in black leather, took hold where Sycamore's neck met his shoulders. He would break his neck or squeeze the air from his body. It would be quick and almost painless and after all the destruction was at an end, he would find somewhere peaceful to lay his body to rest.

Sycamore gazed up at him. There was no fight left in his body.

"Have a little mercy, Lysandre," he whispered. "I have students a-and children of my own. A lifetime of research to my name..."

"None of these things matter any more," Lysandre said. Salty rivulets of tears ran past his lips and into his beard, almost blinding him. He squeezed Sycamore's throat, blocking precious oxygen from his body. Sycamore's eyelids fluttered shut and his lips opened noiselessly.

How long did it take to kill a man? Lysandre watched every motion with morbid fascination; eyelids fluttered shut and lips opened noiselessly. Palms opened and closed like the wings of a Vivillon. His cock bulged beneath his clothes.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!" Lysandre released him with a jolt, nauseous, and Sycamore gasped. Regaining his breath, he gazed at Lysandre's legs as he went to his desk, and opened a drawer. He returned holding a short, gleaming blade sprouting from in one fist.

"_No_, Lysandre, NO!"

Lysandre sawed through the ropes that held Sycamore prisoner. After a split second of disbelief, he got to his feet, his breaths shallow and racing.

"Go. Run away and save yourself if you can." Sycamore stood still, and Lysandre turned and flung the knife at him. He threw himself aside and dodged it by a whisker's breadth. "GO!" Lysandre roared.

Sycamore fled.

The underground corridors of Lysandre's complex were too animated with chaos for Team Flare to notice one dust-covered blue shirt amongst all the red. He kept running until he could follow a woman up a long staircase and out into the open air. He fell to all fours on the pavement.

Lysandre Café stood behind him, empty and unlit and the colour of blood. So he was still in Lumiose City. A lone Gogoat blared from nearby. Dawn was rising behind the top of Prism Tower. He must have been unconscious in Lysandre's office for hours.

His first instinct was to run to his lab and find Garchomp, but it would have to wait just a little longer. Bracing himself against the wall of the café, he groped for his Holo Caster in his torn pockets. Amazingly, it had survived the ordeal with little more than a scratch. Its screen flashed, dazing him as he called for his assistants. The muscles in his shoulders and legs were burning, and his face was stinging sharply.

Two blurred faces were projected before him, gaping at the sight of their injured Professor.

"Oh _God_, Professor! What happened to you?"

"No time to explain," he said hurriedly. "You need to get to Geosenge Town immediately. Stop Team Flare. You've got to stop Team Flare."

"What? We don't know what's happening, Professor. Geosenge-"

"Stop Team Flare. Stop Lysandre. Now go," he commanded. "Do whatever you have to do." His assistants nodded, and their projections disappeared. Sycamore stood, and ignoring the pain, began to limp back to the Pokémon Laboratory.


	11. Chapter 11

In the end Calem, Serena and Shauna had been the heroes. Their bravery would go down in Kalos history.

The Team Flare headquarters had collapsed into ruin. The children and the Professor's assistants had escaped just in time, but Lysandre, possessed by madness in his final seconds, was dead.

The clear-up process had begun only days afterwards. Photographs were taken from every angle as the heavy rocks were excavated and the mysterious story pieced together by Officer Jenny and an army of special detectives.

More than a month after his death, Lysandre's mangled body was unearthed in his tomb of fallen stones. He was identified instantly by the remains of his hair and clothing. His lower body had been crushed by a falling boulder, and a post mortem examination reported that he could have survived for more than 24 hours before the ghost of life escaped him.

His corpse was buried in an unmarked grave.

Professor Sycamore didn't know where. He didn't want to know; he just wanted to forget. The he could begin to rebuild his life around his work.

But it wasn't easy to forget about the man who had changed his life and brought the world to its knees. Nobody quite knew what danger they were in on that night, but there was a great sense of jubilation at the danger, whatever it was, being averted. The media fed hungrily on every detail of the ordeal to be revealed.

Thirty years ago, the young Augustine Sycamore had been waiting for his mother as he sat cross-legged on the flagged stones of the Couriway train station and carved a message to the man he would become. Have you followed your dreams? Are you living every day to the fullest?

The breeze tugged at the grown man's hair. His fingertips traced over the old words. He had his chair and his titles, and lived a life full of hypotheses and discoveries. He was beloved by his students, by children and by all women. But the last twelve months had driven him from ecstasy to agony and eventually to ruin.

He had his chair and his titles, and as a scientist, lived a life full of discovery. He was beloved by children, women, and his students. But the last twelve months had driven him from ecstasy to agony and back again, then eventually to ruin.

It was time to move on. He stood, and headed for town, where his students were waiting for him.


End file.
